


Irrational Numbers

by pamz



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Happy Pi Day!, Mathematics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamz/pseuds/pamz
Summary: Post Season 4 Finale after Waige gets back together.  Paige cooks up a surprise for Walter.
Relationships: Paige Dineen & Walter O'Brien, Paige Dineen/Walter O'Brien
Kudos: 16





	Irrational Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> This story is fluffier than a lemon meringue pie. Mmm. . .pie. Hope you enjoy! Happy Pi Day!
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is an amateur, not-for-profit publication produced solely for the enjoyment of other Scorpion fans and is not intended to infringe upon any rights of K/O Paper Products, Blackjack Productions, Perfect Storm Entertainment, SB Projects, CBS Television Studios, or anyone else.

"Dammit!"

Walter darted his eyes away from his laptop and looked up toward the loft. That was the third curse Paige had uttered in the past five minutes. 

Not only was she swearing more than usual, she was being rather secretive. She'd disappeared around noon, had come back an hour later, carrying two heavily laden canvas bags. She'd practically torn his head off when he offered to help her take them upstairs, announcing she had it under control. 

That had been five hours ago. Everyone else had gone to their respective homes for the evening. Ralph was spending the night with Sylvester for a reason Walter was never really clear about. Odd noises and odors had drifted down from the loft from time to time. And every time, he'd asked if everything was all right, he received the same emphatic one word reply - "Yes!" 

He was growing tired of his exile from his living quarters. There were several things he could be working on up in his lab instead of wasting time at his desk playing with algorithms. His patience with whatever Paige was doing was wearing thin.

Snapping down the lid of his laptop, he got up from his chair. Deciding the ramp would be the quietest way to reach the next floor, he walked up it, stopping when he reached the top.

His eyes grew wide as he took in the disaster his kitchen had become. He rarely did much cooking himself, although he did understand its scientific principles. Food was fuel and nothing more. 

The countertops were littered with bowls and spoons, canisters and pans. A light dusting of flour coated everything, including Paige, who was bending over in front of the oven. The sight of her booty stirred his libido even as he wondered what she was doing. Whatever it was, it didn't appear she was succeeding.

He must have made a noise because she straightened up and swirled around, an expression of shock and horror on her face.

"Walter!" She wore oven mitts on both hands and an apron over her clothes which was smeared with various unknown substances. "What are doing you up here?"

"Uh, I live here?" he replied, stating the only fact he was certain of at the moment. "I could ask the same of you."

She sighed wearily. "I'll clean up this mess. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried about the mess." And he wasn't. He'd created far worse when working on a project. "Are you having difficulties? Maybe I can help?"

"Yes and no." She slid off the mitts and set them on the counter next to a carton of eggs. "I may as well show you." She beckoned him to come closer.

He covered the few steps to where she stood and glanced around. "Where is it?"

"In the oven. Finally."

Crouching down, he peeked through the glass window of the oven door. In the middle of the wire rack sat what only could be a pie. He couldn't tell what kind nor could he decipher the strange hieroglyphics encircling the top crust.

"It's a pie," he pointed out unnecessarily. 

"Yes, it's a pie, Walter." She crossed her arms over her waist. "Do you know why I made it?"

He was sure it was a trick question and whatever answer he gave would be wrong. Searching his brain for something which would get him into the least amount of trouble, he rejected a few ideas before latching onto the simplest explanation. 

"You wanted pie?"

He knew immediately his reply had been wrong, just as he'd predicted. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. "No, I did not want pie. I made it for a reason other than wanting to eat pie," she declared.

"Well, it smells delicious," he said truthfully as he stood back up. 

She threw her hands into the air. "I thought you were a genius."

"I am."

She rolled her eyes at him. "What's today?"

Oh, good. A question he knew the answer to. "It's Monday."

"No, not that. What's the date?"

"Uh." His eyes shifted to the calendar hanging on the refrigerator. "March 14th."

"And. . ."

"And what?" The words had barely left his mouth when a feeling of dread swept over him. _Oh, crap_. Had he forgotten an anniversary? Some important milestone in their relationship? He thought he'd had them all memorized. Once again rummaging through his head, he came up empty for March 14th.

"It's Pie Day," she said, the exasperation plain in her tone. "Come on, you're the mathematician."

Not sure what baked goods had to do with math, he frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it was. . ."

"Not Pie Day. . . _Pi_ Day. You know, 3.14. . . Pi."

"Oh." Everything clicked into place at that moment and he felt like an idiot. Pi, the ratio of a circle's circumference, also known as Archimedes' constant, and an irrational number which could not be expressed as a common fraction. Its decimal representation was without end and its pattern never repeated. He personally could recite pi to five hundred places. "You made. . . You made a pie for Pi Day." Word play. He could appreciate that.

"Exactly." She blew her bangs upward. "Except baking isn't really my thing. I didn't think it would be so hard to make everything from scratch and I wanted it to be perfect and the dough kept coming out wrong and sticking to the rolling pin and the numbers got mangled because I kept forgetting what order they were in and I cut my finger chopping the apples. . ." Pausing, she held up the bandaged index finger on her right hand. "The pie in the oven is my third try. Hopefully it's the charm," she added without much enthusiasm.

She seemed so despondent he did the only thing he could. Stepping forward, he gathered her into his arms, where she promptly burst into tears. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed, rubbed her back as she sobbed on his shoulder. "I don't love you for your baking skills."

"Good, because I don't have any," she said with a snuffle. She pulled back and wiped at her eyes. "What do you love me for then?" she asked, a tinge of suspicion in her voice.

"Because you cared enough to teach me what love could be," he said. "And you're the first person to ever make me a pie for Pi Day. Thank you."

She slid her arms around his neck and mashed her lips onto his as she wove her fingers into his hair. 

One thing lead to another and into the bedroom. The forgotten pie in the oven wasn't the only thing smoking hot that night. 

**FIN**


End file.
